


these tornadoes are for you

by pineapplepolvoron



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Friends With Benefits, M/M, No Beta, Smut, but eventually boyfriends, but it'll get there, but with feelings, i guess it's not wholesome since it's sex, i only started shipping them when the actors started to and now i’m stuck in hell, something wholesome for our murder fandom, whoops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:01:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23459017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pineapplepolvoron/pseuds/pineapplepolvoron
Summary: Kenny’s tired and lonely.  Hugo’s tired and bored.  It’s not ideal, but it’s enough.
Relationships: Hugo/Kenny Stowton
Comments: 6
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i guess everything about killing eve is gay

Kenny sits at his computer in his new office, typing nonsense to look like he’s working while thinking of something to actually write about; in the few months that had passed between Rome and now, he’d quit MI6 and started working at an online publication. His boss had been forgiving, explaining his expectations practically every day. Kenny tried his best to pay attention to the remarkably simple instructions, but Eve sacking him left him reeling for far too long. He wanted to be polite and listen, but he had heard the same speech so many times that it was honestly a waste of energy at this point. After all, he’s only ever had one job: dig up dirt. Well, not exactly, but it’s the simplest way to put it. Illegally(-ish) dig up dirt.

So he does what he’s always done; he hacks the world’s best security systems to find out what man placed an envelope where and at what time. Perhaps it’s not legal anymore for him to do it since he’s a civilian, but he’ll do what he can to get the job done. He doesn’t draw attention to himself, and he certainly doesn’t ask questions. The one boss he’d bother to question- for her own safety- fired him, so there’s no way he’d do that again. It hurt to see Eve drop him so quickly, without a second thought, but he still misses her. He misses Eve and her straightforwardness. He misses Elena and her enthusiasm. He misses Bill and his presence in the room, when everything was so lighthearted, despite their efforts to track down a serial killer. But Bill was murdered, Elena quit, he was fired, and now Eve is off doing God knows what with God knows who. Now he’s with people he knows nothing about (even though he could look up everything about them if he wanted), working on new projects all the time. Everything’s changed so much and he hates it. Even the short-lived team with Hugo and Jess was more comfortable, more familiar, than this one. He’d gotten to know them. Now, he doesn’t bother to get to know anyone anymore.

He’s gotten used to leaving the office last. Most of the time, it’s not even because he needs to; he just doesn’t like walking out with others. Perhaps he’s anti-social, but that’s what happens when you’ve been a hacker for the government. He doesn’t need to lock up either- they have people for that- but he does it anyway. He’s sure he’s the last one in this wing of the building until he spots a familiar back-of-the-head leaning against the wall just outside the doors.

_Maybe it’s time to get out of my comfort zone, stop moping for once._

“Hey,” Kenny waves awkwardly at the other man, hoping he didn’t speak too quietly. He’d rather die than have to repeat his lame greeting. Hugo turns his head away from his phone, but not his eyes, getting ready to glance at the other man after finishing his text.

“Oh, hi!” He grins brightly, crossing his arms and leaning on his shoulder. “Long day?”

“Not really, just sort of unnecessary. I can’t say we’ve accomplished much.” He shrugs with his hands in his pockets, unsure if he should say something else. He decides to.

“How are you feeling?” He’d heard of Hugo getting shot in Rome, but hadn’t seen him since. Kenny figures that since he’s at the office, he’s sure to be fine, but he wants to be polite.

“Quite chipper, actually. I’m hopped on enough pain meds to walk, which is nice, but unfortunately not enough to get high,” Hugo’s eyes gleam a little when he speaks, but Kenny can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

“That’s good to hear, then.” He gets ready to walk away but the hand on his arm makes him freeze.

“Do you wanna get a drink? I was going anyway. I know a good pub,” Hugo reassures him before retracting his hand.

“Oh! Um, yeah, sure.” He can’t remember the last time he’d gone out for drinks, much less the last time someone invited him out. He swears he’s not that much of a recluse, but evidence seems to be stacking against him.

“Alright then. This way.” Kenny follows behind Hugo, hoping that they really are going to a pub and not a club.

By the grace of probably how nervous Hugo could see Kenny was, they did, in fact, go to a pub. It wasn’t that packed, so they managed to snag seats at the bar. For the sake of conversation, they both ordered beers and nursed quietly while thinking of something to say.

“How long have you been back?” Kenny asks, finally breaking the awkward silence.

“It’s been a few months but I spent a decent amount of time in the hospital, so,” Hugo nods the rest of his sentence. “You can’t only drink beer, can you?” He doesn’t wait for Kenny’s answer when he motions the bartender over and orders two whiskeys. He slides the glass to the other man, letting their fingers touch when Kenny reaches for the drink. Hugo immediately slams his drink back and orders a second; Kenny slowly drinks his and tries to think of something more substantial to say than thanks.

“What do you-” Hugo cuts him off and says dismissively, “Do you actually want to catch up like a couple of blokes from uni or do you wanna get out of here?”

Kenny stares at the person before him. He’s relaxed, leaning an elbow against the counter, stance open and slouched, waiting for Kenny’s answer. As always, there’s a flirty look in his eyes, but it throws Kenny off that it’s directed at him. He guesses he stares too long because Hugo’s leaning forward, not even trying to be subtle as he glances at Kenny’s mouth, and saying in a deeper voice than before, “What do you say?”

Kenny looks away, feeling heat flash up his neck and over his face. His heart pounds against his rib cage as he finishes his drink. He calls for another and slams it back like Hugo did. He thinks his heart stops when he turns, cradles Hugo’s face and neck in his hands, and kisses him hard. It isn’t searing, nor is it electrifying like so many people describe first kisses as. It’s crushing pressure matched by the grip on his hips. They pull away from each other, completely winded but without any space between them. Hugo fishes around in his pockets, dumps a fistful of money on the counter, and tugs Kenny out the door.

The moment Hugo locks his apartment door, Kenny presses into him, continuing from where they left off at the pub. Hugo grins at Kenny’s forwardness, hands sliding under the other’s shirt, fingers flexing against his abdominal muscles.

 _He’s stronger than me_ , he realizes and wraps his arms around his waist. _Taller too_. He tilts his head up, slipping his tongue into the other’s mouth. He finds what he’s looking for, gently bites down, and sucks. The shudder that runs through Kenny’s body gives Hugo the opportunity to press his knee between Kenny’s legs. He whines and grinds down, shoving Hugo roughly against the door. Finally, there’s a hand in his hair, and Hugo lets out a moan, low and long.

Kenny tugs off his jacket impatiently and dives back in for another kiss, but Hugo dips his head before their lips can connect. He crashes on the other’s neck, trailing feather-light kisses down his throat. He pushes them towards his bedroom, both stumbling and struggling to pull off their clothes without not touching for too long. About an hour later (more like a minute), Kenny is shoved onto his back, hitting a firm mattress and knocking the wind out of his lungs. His eyes fly open and he looks wildly at his attacker. Hugo’s half-lidded eyes have a predatory look in them as he straddles the taller man’s hips. It occurs to him that he only has his shirt and his boxers on. Hugo is dressed similarly with a thin undershirt instead of a t-shirt, fingers lazily dragging across his clothed chest. Kenny rests his hands lightly on the other’s thighs as they both catch their breath.

“What- what do you like?” He stammers out breathlessly, fingertips tracing mindless code against flushed skin.

“You.” Hugo rests his hands on Kenny’s shoulders, pinning him to the bed.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it. All you need to do is scream for me.” Kenny rolls his eyes at his arrogance, but quickly closes them to sit up for a rough kiss.

Sitting in his lap, Hugo is finally taller than the other man. He pushes Kenny’s shirt up and over his head, one hand curling into his hair and the other falling back to roam his chest. He twists a nipple and curses stream out of the man’s mouth. Then someone shifts their hips and they’re both panting for air. The solid feeling of a covered cock pressing against his drips heat into Hugo’s core. He rocks his hips and desperately searches for the same friction. Kenny’s hands slide up his spine: one presses against the small of his back while the other drifts down and squeezes his butt. It pulls them closer, flush against one another, and leaves them both wanting.

They work together, peeling shirts off each other and tossing boxer shorts out of the way. They grab the lube from under Hugo’s bed, squeezing it onto Kenny’s fingers before rubbing them against Hugo’s entrance. He takes in one finger, two, three, and it’s too soon but it isn’t enough. The fingers curl, and Hugo presses his forehead against Kenny’s collarbone, moaning and breathing hard, and braces himself against his broad shoulders. The fingers pump, and Hugo lifts his hips and slams them down to set a pace but it still isn’t enough. Kenny’s other hand is in between the two of them, stroking them both, precum coating his palm, and he fumbles again for the lube. They line themselves up against each other, sinking down and rocking and teasing until there’s a sweet blinding whiteness that throws Kenny over the edge. Hugo follows almost immediately after, and the two collapse, shaking, on their sides, legs tangled together.

Hugo takes Kenny’s wrist, guiding his fingers into his mouth and obscenely licking the precum off. He’s exhausted, and as much as he loves the feeling of Hugo’s tongue, he laughs over the novelty of it. Hugo lets go of his wrist and admires the flushed, panting view. It’s ages until they catch their breath, and Hugo says without thinking, “You‘re stunning, you know.”

Kenny blushes and opens his mouth to say something when Hugo slides down the edge of the bed, settling between the other man’s legs.

“You’re not done, are you?” He asks cheekily and drops his head. A hand laces in his hair and he doesn’t come up for breath until he almost chokes.

Hugo wakes up to an empty bed. The right side is made, and his clothes are folded at the foot of the bed. He rubs his face and reaches blindly for his phone on the nightstand; he grabs a pen and a sticky note instead. The note says, “Thanks for the drink x,” and Hugo smiles to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay there’s no way i’m the only one who ships these two. if there’s one of us, then there’s a fuck ton.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who cannot organize his thoughts for the life of him?  
> me bitch

Kenny jogs up the stairs, balancing a half empty cup of coffee with an open laptop, jamming the enter key. As he ascends, he clicks the key harder, hoping the pages would load faster while knowing they won’t. He nearly smacks into Bear when he barrels through the glass doors of his office.

“Oh! Good. you’re here,” Bear walks him to his desk, absentmindedly chewing on tangfastics. “Boss has a new project for all of us. Wants us writing on this-“ he slaps a couple pieces of paper onto Kenny’s keyboard, “-it’s supposedly good for views.”

He nods his thanks and sits down, rummaging through the papers. He reads the file -it’s pretty standard, local celebrity spotting- and starts combing through the woman’s last known locations.

The day runs like any other day; without Eve, there’s no one to be overly excited, no one to make the job exciting. Once again, Kenny is bored, stuck waiting for websites to load, with no one to talk or complain to. No one can stay politely interested in the codes behind jailbreaking for enough time to be worth explaining, so he doesn’t attempt to make conversation. He spins in his swivel chair and drifts to the previous week, to the bar, to Hugo. He isn’t one for casual sex, but it was refreshing, something to take his mind off Eve and Villanelle and Rome and the Twelve. And it seemed that Hugo liked it too. _It’s a decent excuse to get outside and hang out with someone_ , he reasons with himself. He thinks of Hugo sleeping deeply by his side, hand gently resting on his stomach and lips quirked into a small smile. He thinks of how difficult it was to find his clothes in the morning. He thinks of how he walked into the doorframe of the bedroom to get his jacket and how Hugo’s own snores kept him from waking up to the crash. He thinks of the red marks he found on his body, perfectly indented into the hollow of his hips. He thinks of waking up relaxed, satisfied, _happy_. He takes out his phone and sends a text:

**Drinks?**

He almost immediately gets a response:

**;)**

Hugo leans against the cool stone wall outside. It took him ages to find the building again, and he’s way earlier than before. It doesn’t matter to him, though: if tonight goes anything like last time, then he doesn’t mind waiting in the slightest. If he’s being honest, he was originally just waiting for an Uber. Kenny came along by chance, and he’d be damned if he didn’t say he was lucky. Kenny wasn’t a bad catch at all; he’s tall and fit and, although he’s a bit awkward, it was nothing Hugo couldn’t work with. All in all, they aren’t dissimilar characters - neither can really keep up with the other, but that never mattered to them. Besides, even if it did, it’s just sex.

Kenny arrives much earlier than last week, and Hugo can’t help but wonder if it was because he missed him.

“No! No, I just had less work to do,” Kenny denies it, but it falls on deaf ears and he knows it, and Hugo’s grinning and grabbing at the other’s wrist, rushing to his own apartment.

As promised, Hugo tosses a chilled bottle of beer to Kenny; he cracks open a bottle of champagne for himself, not bothering to get a glass.

“So,” Hugo taps his nails on the bottle a few times. “Back so soon?” He’s leaning against his counter this time, watching Kenny’s throat bob as he swallows a mouthful of beer.

“It’s been a week, not a day,” Kenny tries to sound nonchalant, even shrugs his shoulders to get his point across, but the flush that spread up his neck ruins his attempt. He looks away and gets distracted by the decor in the kitchen. His eyes trace the folds of drapes crowding large windows, zeroing in on the stitches of gold that adorn the hem. Hugo doesn’t note the interest in his eyes; instead, he follows the wrinkles in Kenny’s jacket around his shoulders, how it bunches and smooths with each minute twitch. He looks at Kenny’s fingers, how they curl unconsciously around the top of a barstool, brushing gently over the textured metal; how they grip the neck of the beer bottle, trembling ever so slightly at the chill; how condensation latches onto his forefinger’s third digit and races down his hand, over the rise of his wrist and down the underside of his forearm. Then Hugo’s walking forward, prying away cold fingers from a cold bottle, feeling the pads of his own fingers burn into the thin skin covering Kenny’s pulse. Hugo raises their arms and catches the drop of water on his tongue. He licks up, returning to Kenny’s wrist. Finally, _finally_ , the two men lock eyes and lean in, kissing gently, much more gently than their first time. Alcohol forgotten, they sink into each other’s embrace, unwilling to resurface for a long time.

They’re lying in Hugo’s bed, buried under sheets and heaps of blankets so soft Kenny can’t stomach asking where Hugo had bought them. Hugo rests on his side with one arm propped up under his head and the other lazily tracing circles over Kenny’s ribs. They’re perfectly silent, nothing but their spent breaths and the smooth hum of the ceiling fan perforating the cool air. Kenny looks at the ceiling in the same way he looks at everything: he studies each speckle, each accidental scratch as if they’re there for a reason and as if he can, should, and must figure it out.

“That right there,” Hugo points at a filled in crack located above the foot of the bed, “is from when I got _really_ drunk and tried juggling wine bottles. I ended up throwing one straight at the ceiling, and it broke right through. When it came down, it shattered across the floor and absolutely _everything_ got coated in wine. I plastered the ceiling myself, and my room smelled like fermented cherries for a week.” Kenny, mouth slightly agape, looks disbelievingly at him for a moment, then smiles softly and shakes his head.

“Do you know how to juggle?”

“Not at all.”

They laugh together and slide under the sheets, craving the warmth of the other’s body.

“I once broke into a warehouse, and I didn’t realize it, but there was an automated lift by the door. When it came down, it scared me and I jumped and smashed a window,” Kenny confesses when their mirth subsides.

“Breaking into a warehouse? Was young Kenny a troublemaker? Would _not_ have bet on that.”

“Don’t worry, it was nothing drastic. I worked as a penetration tester in university. Basically, people paid me to break into their security systems to tell them how secure it was and what could be improved,” he shrugs as if it were no big deal, as if he were explaining the mechanics of a lock and not how he used to professionally break in and enter.

“I didn’t know you worked before. I thought you went straight to MI6 like me,” Hugo wonders, tucking his feet behind Kenny’s calves. They’re cold, and it makes Kenny flinch, but he answers without complaint.

“No, I actually went underground right after. I quit testing and started hacking properly instead. I’d only been at MI6 for a little over a year.” He slides an arm over Hugo’s waist, hand settling below his shoulder blades and tugging him closer.

“We’re way too young for that job.” Hugo places a chaste kiss on the other’s collarbone, and Kenny hums in agreement.

He returns the gesture against Hugo’s lips, smiling and moving against him. The taste of champagne is almost gone, but there’s enough of Hugo to make Kenny dizzy with content. He floods the smaller man’s personal space, leaning over him and tilting his head back with a nudge. Eyes lidded, he drops kisses into parted lips, tongue caressing and twisting against the other’s. Chilled fingers graze the back of his neck, flexing against his spine and gripping at his nape. The hand not being used to hold himself up threads into Hugo’s hair, fingernails scraping at his scalp and angling his head for better access. Kenny nuzzles against Hugo’s neck, trailing his jaw and the underside of his chin. Mindless words of adoration are muttered; Hugo’s breath hitches when his legs are hiked on top of Kenny’s shoulders. They grab at the lube together, Hugo touching them both as Kenny hastily applies it to himself. A jolt of electricity carves through the latter when he hears Hugo whine and plead at his teasing. In shock, he drives his full length into Hugo, causing the man to cry out in pain.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Kenny rambles apologies and pulls halfway out. “Are you okay?” He cradles the other’s face worriedly, searching his features for increasing pain or discomfort. Hugo’s pupils are blown and his eyes water; he blinks rapidly at the sting, gasping for air and pulling Kenny’s face down to meet his.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologizes again, not masking the guilt on his face. He hesitates, and then says, “Do you- I can leave.” He moves his arms to raise himself off the bed but Hugo pulls him back down.

“No!” he commands. “No, I just-” He takes a moment to collect himself and to even out his breathing a little. “Can you do that again?”

His brows furrow and Kenny asks, “But doesn’t it hurt?” He’s still holding Hugo gently, worried that if he moves too much, Hugo would fall apart. In a way, he does: he nods repeatedly, shifting under the pressure of the bigger man. He weakly tugs at Kenny’s hips, attempting to pull them together. Kenny nods slightly in understanding and steadies himself. From the encouraging look he receives, he draws back and slams into Hugo. A hiss of pain leaves the other man’s mouth, but then he’s begging for more. Nails scratch down his back, and Kenny does it again and again. He grasps a fistful of hair and plunges them into a messy, rough kiss. Their teeth scrape together in time with the nails on Kenny’s back, and soon, the two of them are collapsed over each other, chests heaving and legs throbbing. Having regained his breath, Hugo is asked if he’s alright. He tiredly replies in affirmation and switches their positions. He rests his head under Kenny’s chin, gratefully accepting the soothing strokes in his hair. They lay like that, intertwined and winded, for a long time; Kenny’s almost asleep when he hears Hugo chuckle, “Ha! Penetration tester!” He smiles softly at the figure on top of him and closes his eyes.

Once again, Hugo wakes to an empty, made bed and a thank you note. He slides gracelessly off his bed and limps to the kitchen. He’s beyond sore, more in pain than anything, but makes it to the fridge. At the sight of the half-empty champagne bottle in the door, he grins.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why yes, i /did/ create rich biches for hugo to hang out with. birds of a feather, am i right?

Hugo waltzes into work ten minutes late, coffee in hand and wearing a shit-eating grin. Draping his needlessly expensive coat over his chair, he sidles up to a coworker and puts his hands over his eyes.

“Did you know that the most effective way to get a fresh coffee stain out of your clothes is to blot it best as you can before soaking it in water and vinegar?”

“If this is some kind of warning, know that I _will_ run you over with your Porsche, have sex in the backseat, auction it off for two and a half quid, _take_ the two and a half quid, buy a goddamn coffee, and dump it on your rich bastard arse as you die in a hospital,” he responds completely calmly, fingers flexed on the keyboard, waiting for his eyes to regain full sight.

Hugo huffs and says, “There’s no need to be dramatic, Peter.” He draws his hands back, running his fingers through his friend’s hair. “I was just letting you know.”

He rests his chin atop Peter’s head, eyes skimming the computer screen before them without actually taking in any information, and wraps his arms around Peter’s shoulders. He mutters a “good morning to you too” when his coworker wordlessly shrugs his arms off and continues typing. On his way back to his own desk, he gently flicks the ear of another worker, Blake, and asks, “Why’s he so sour?”

“Got more overtime,” Blake flinches away from the quick contact, ducking their head to avoid a hand in their hair. Ever the flirt, Hugo is neither above nor below teasing his friends.

“Thought he _wanted_ a raise,” he finally settles in his seat and boots up his computer.

“Yeah, in money _,_ not hours.”

He runs through financial reports, double and triple checking the ebbs and flows of cash between small businesses and his company. He is perhaps flashy, and he is definitely arrogant, but that isn’t to say he isn’t skilled. He has no doubt that he got a job so quickly because of his connections, but he still has a degree from Oxford. He still worked hard to get where he is, albeit a lot less hard than most people. Nonetheless, he knows what he’s doing, and he always has. If he wanted to sit around and do nothing for 200k, then he would have worked at his father’s company. But doing nothing is a foolproof plan to be bored for the rest of your life, and while he’d rather not get shot and die, he’d much prefer a stimulating job to a useless one.

Speaking of stimulating, Hugo discovered an unfortunate toll of his… partnership with Kenny. While he thoroughly enjoyed himself the last time, his appearance at work left something to be desired. Try as he might, he had a noticeable limp the following morning, earning a day’s worth of pestering by Peter and Blake within the first twenty minutes of his clocking in. It took a couple days for the pain to go away, and today is the first day he could walk without a single complaint. _The price for pleasure is great_ , he muses to himself, sipping the rest of his overpriced, cold coffee. Peter catches up to him as he makes his way to the crappy drip coffee his floor supplies.

“Good to see you’ve stopped limping.”

“Good to see you’ve stopped bitching.”

Hugo maturely makes a face at Peter, reaching around him to grab the last five sugar packets. They both like their coffee sickeningly sweet and play this game of who-will-get-the-last-of-the-sugar often, and for the past few days, Peter’s been winning. Quickly slapping Hugo’s hand away and spinning the tray away from him, he wins again. He laughs and deposits the empty tray back onto the break table.

“You’ve been getting so slow lately,” he jeers as he flits away, “Honestly, you should hook up more often.”

Hugo leans against the wall and watches Peter slip off, sipping his bitter drink and hating every second of it. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and, in a moment of thoughtlessness, shoots a text to Kenny.

**Come over**

He stares in shock at his own hastiness as his phone reads Delivered. Belatedly, he realizes he forgot to even put a question mark. Before he can think of cracking a joke or apologizing, the typing symbol appears. He holds his breath, waiting to be chastised or laughed at, and reads Kenny’s response.

**Want dinner?**

He sighs in relief, sending back a quick **Sure** before slipping his phone back in the safety of his pocket. He wonders if it’s a bad idea, but quickly dismisses the notion with the thought: _Thank God it’s the weekend_.

He takes his time finishing up his work, intermittently throwing small paper balls at the back of Peter’s head. He doesn’t miss how Blake hides their smile or how Peter gives him the finger whenever he hits his target. And they don’t miss how Hugo’s eyes light up in anticipation when his phone rings minutes before he has to leave. They do, however, miss the smirk that dances across his face when he passes Peter’s desk on his way out, having appeared the second after he slaps the man’s half-empty coffee cup out of his hand and into his lap.

He grabs a bottle of red wine on his way home, not expecting to drink it but wanting to be as prepared as possible. He manages to clean up a little and change into something more formal. _Dress to impress_ , he reminds himself, adjusting his tie to be loose enough to make him look like he just returned home from work, but not loose enough to make him look exhausted. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he acknowledges that Kenny is significantly more low key than this, but he pushes the thought away when he imagines Kenny shoving him against a wall and ripping his tie off, kissing him roughly and scraping his nails against his scalp. He drifts off in the fantasy, tilting his head back and breathing shallowly, when the doorbell jolts him fully conscious. He does his best to regulate his breathing, and by the time he opens the door, he’s back to his normal, obnoxious, laid-back self. Kenny’s holding a bag of Thai take-out in one hand and a pack of beers in the other. He stares down with a cute, expecting smile, and for a moment, Hugo’s heart stops.

Dinner is predictably quiet, with Kenny being a little too shy to strike up a consistent conversation and Hugo being a little too content to watch him stutter. They share the beer Kenny brought, letting themselves get buzzed enough to laugh about stupid things like spilling coffee or stealing candy. Kenny, against Hugo’s insistence, washes the dishes and Hugo, who’s not one to be upstaged, dries them. It’s oddly domestic, not that either of them notice. It takes a couple of tries for Hugo to notice that he’s being splashed, too. Kenny tries valiantly to not laugh at the other’s indignant expression, but his resolve withers when Hugo slaps a rubber glove onto the edge of the sink, a metaphorical throwing down of a gauntlet. Quick to rise to the occasion, Kenny throws down a rubber glove too. He grabs a spoon and plunges it under the running faucet, aiming a wave of hot water at Hugo. It soaks through his shirt, splashing onto his face and sleeves. He looks comically outraged as he grabs a shallow dish to fill with water before dumping it down Kenny’s front, ineffectively soaking the other man. Their petty water fight stops abruptly when Kenny pushes Hugo against the counter, away from the sink and the offending water. His fingers tangle in the wet fabric of Hugo’s dress shirt as their lips collide, laughs disrupting the series of kisses. Hugo sinks back on his elbows and sighs when he feels his tie being tugged off and their foreheads bump together.

Their clothes tossed in the drier, the men recline naked on the couch. Kenny’s only partly paying attention to the football game; most of his senses are dedicated to the man who’s lying between his legs, whose head is on his chest, who’s toying with his fingers. He didn’t expect to like being with Hugo this much, and he certainly didn’t expect to want to stay. Somewhere in between washing dishes and hearing Hugo beg his name, Kenny decided that he wanted this to be a regular thing, not just three one-night stands. And it wasn’t just the sex that pursuaded him: he relished being able to run his fingers through someone’s hair, to make meaningless small talk and enjoy the company all the same, to sit in front of a telly without really watching it and still love the view. He never got tired of feeling his heart break when Hugo refused to give him what he wanted, and he would _never_ tire of watching Hugo fall apart beneath him. He adored seeing the other man content and breathless when they finished. Hell, he adored seeing the other man, full stop.

The thought of adoring Hugo makes Kenny freeze. Surely he hasn’t gone that far. Liking sex was one thing, but liking someone was a whole different ballpark. He’d gladly chalk the feelings up to afterglow, but the notion of genuinely falling for the pompous man came too soon for comfort. Obviously, said pompous man is clueless to Kenny’s dilemma, having continued to idly prod at and trace the lines of his partner’s hands. The man is relaxed as could be; he rests comfortably atop the other’s body, unperturbed by the rest of the world, completely absorbed in memorizing the skin of his companion. Seeing him like this settles a peace over Kenny, prompting him to lean forward and down to place a soft kiss on Hugo’s shoulder. Hugo smiles at his lap and moves to shut off the television. He guides the two of them to his bedroom and sinks into the larger man’s touch.

Kenny wakes about an hour before sunrise, giving him just enough time to watch Hugo sleep serenely before dressing up and going home. He hesitates when deciding to kiss the sleeping man goodbye, but decides to do it anyway. As he walks down the street towards his car, he feels a piece of paper in his pocket. It’s a sticky note, and scrawled in perfect, slanted script is “Thanks for the drinks x”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my bad, it’s a little shorter than normal


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’ve gotta say, i don’t know why the chapters are getting shorter, and i’m sorry. i’ll try to update more often, then.

Kenny goes to Hugo’s house more consistently now. First two, then three times a week. He stops riding his bike to work, instead opting for a car he’s owned for years but never drives. It isn’t long before his coworkers notice the change.

“Is that a new car? Looks mint,” Bear compliments as he holds the door open for Kenny.

“Um, it’s not new, but thank you.”

They take their seats, Bear scratching at his beard absentmindedly before eating a handful of Tangfastics.

“A car is way more convenient than a bike to travel long distances, which implies that you have somewhere to go after work. What, are you an alcoholic? Going to the pub every day? You really shouldn’t be driving then,” he rambles on, and Kenny’s only half listening as he messes with his rubix cube.

“Wait, are you seeing someone?” At this, Kenny’s head snaps up, eyebrows raised, skeptical of his intuition. Audrey’s head snaps up, too, though the action goes unnoticed by the two men.

“You promised you’re just as socially inept as the rest of us!” Bear complains loudly, tossing the bag of candy on his keyboard and looking pointedly at the man he’s addressing. Kenny rolls his eyes, saying,

“I _did_ promise, and I am! There’s no need to worry.” Neither Bear nor Audrey are particularly persuaded, but they accept the answer. For now.

“You didn’t answer the question!” Bear realizes belatedly, but by then, Kenny already has headphones on, blasting soft rock and humming along.

Some days, Kenny goes over to Hugo’s late in the evening. There’s no dinner, sometimes not even drinks. No, instead, Hugo (half naked already) pulls Kenny through the door and latches right on to him. No need for greetings, informal or otherwise. It’s on days like these that they are unnecessarily aggressive and likely to succeed in making the other scream. It’s on days like these that Kenny wakes too early and trips on his way out the door. It’s on days like these that Hugo has a hard time walking, relying on his pain meds to take care of more than his gunshot wound. But other days, Kenny comes over early and the two do more than fuck senselessly. Like today, for example.

“Ugh, you won’t _believe_ what happened today,” Hugo says without preamble while ushering in the other man. The lack of greeting is not unusual, nor is the clearly prepared story. They trudge to the kitchen, and Hugo hasn’t stopped talking, not even to let Kenny say hello.

“So I’m on my way to work, and I go to my cafe to get my normal order- all the workers know it, of course- and there’s a _massive_ fucking line practically out the door. It’s not actually out the door, so I reckon, why not? I’ve got time, I’m not gonna be late for work, Blake and their punctuality can kiss my ass.”

He pauses for a moment, to either collect his thoughts or take a breather, Kenny doesn’t know. He leans down and checks whatever’s in the oven; it’s satisfactory so he straightens himself and continues on.

“Now, I pride myself on being right all the time-“ _Amongst other things_ , Kenny thinks half-jokingly to himself, “-but there occasionally comes a time where I am not, and I accept that, except for today!” He drops onto a barstool gracelessly, pent up for a seemingly (and probably) petty reason. Kenny takes a seat next to him, listening attentively.

“This line would NEVER have taken such a long time had it not been for this fake-tanned, American tourist who obviously did not have her shit together. She mustn’t have ever been to a cafe before because she took literally _fifteen minutes_ getting her order. By the time she and everyone else are done ordering, I’m running ten minutes late with another ten-minute drive to work! Frankly disgusting, if you ask me. _Finally_ , I place my order, get the bloody drink, and roll into work _half an hour_ late. Half an hour! Not only am I risking my boss kicking my ass, but do you have any idea how much shit I’ll get from Blake? More shit than the largest septic tank in London.” He breathes deeply, head in his hands. and Kenny can’t tell if he’s genuinely frustrated or ranting because he has an audience.

“Honestly, I can continue, but I’ve had enough of my own terrible morning. What about you? Any stories for me?” He’s much more relaxed now, resting an arm against the island, knees apart, head cocked to the side. _He’s sitting like he did at the bar_ , Kenny realizes. Inexplicably, there’s the same flirtatious look in his eyes; Kenny wouldn’t be surprised if that was just his default look.

“Not really, no. I mean, they asked about my car, but it was nothing exciting.”

He shrugs before continuing, “I stole Bear’s Tangfastics.”

Hugo’s grinning slyly and leaning forward, “Naughty. Stealing’s wrong, you know.” He’s edging closer, and it’s getting difficult for Kenny to suppress his smile. He manages and goes,

“I’m a hacker. I’ve done way worse things than steal candy.”

“Tell me then,” Hugo’s seat is much closer than it was a moment ago, and his hands move forward to play with the zipper on Kenny’s jacket, “Illegality’s kind of hot.”

“Breaking and entering, embezzlement, hacking of course,” he lists off, ignoring how Hugo drapes his legs over his own.

“One time, I hotwired a car for a stint.”

Hugo lifts himself onto Kenny’s lap, fingers darting around the hem of his shirt, sneaking underneath little by little. He buries his face into the crook of Kenny’s neck, placing open-mouthed kisses down his throat.

“You know what else is hot and wired?”

Kenny rolls his eyes and places a hand on Hugo’s jaw, guiding him up to pull him into a wet kiss. Hugo’s arms wrap around Kenny’s waist under his jacket, hands clenching the back of his shirt as he moans, the noise getting lost and strangled when Kenny tugs sharply on his hair. They’re pressed flush against one another, hands holding each other in place to ensure that. Hugo bucks his hips, half hard by the time Kenny bites on his collarbone. It takes a minute, but they manage to set a decent pace, knuckles turning white with how hard they grip each other’s hips and clothes. They don’t usually fool around without needing a condom, but tonight is more charged and frantic than most nights. They come out of sync, Hugo painfully crushed between Kenny and the island. Barely a minute passes for them to bask in leftover bliss when the kitchen timer rings out. Hugo extracts himself from Kenny’s lap and goes to pull the tray out of the oven. Looking at their rumpled and stained clothes, he grimace and comments,

“We really didn’t think this through, huh.”

They eat dinner in bathrobes, the hum of the washing machine filling the comfortable silence.

“Do you cook?” Hugo asks halfway through the meal. They eat fillet steak and potatoes. The steak is a little overcooked, but the flavor from the pepper rub makes up for it. Kenny shakes his head no, slightly embarrassed, and asks,

“What’s the occasion? We usually order.”

“I have a bet with Peter over who can cook better, simple but fancy dinners. Tonight’s the second night, and I _will_ throw hands if I don’t win.”

Kenny laughs when he realizes that Hugo is just as inexperienced as he, only with more determination. They finish eating, talking about rising stock prices amongst other boring-but-common topics. Unlike before, they don’t wash the dishes together. Instead, Kenny pushes Hugo against the fridge and drops to his knees. He undoes the simple knot keeping Hugo’s bathrobe closed and ducks down, parted lips placing dirty kisses down Hugo’s length. He looks up to make eye contact, tongue encircling before his mouth takes in the head of Hugo’s dick. Hands already in his hair, he swallows, throat tightening around the erect member. Hugo’s legs are shaking, and Kenny props one over his shoulder to get a better angle. He goes deeper, not breaking eye contact even when he gags. His hands pin Hugo at the hips against the cool metal, and the contrast in temperature between the machine and his flushed skin makes him shutter. Kenny deepthroats him rather obscenely, and Hugo stammers out, “Wait, Kenn-” before releasing. He helps Hugo ride out the bliss, sucking and biting until he stops shivering. He’s practically boneless, and Kenny carries him to bed, making sure to transfer their clothes to the dryer before falling asleep, completely entangled with the other man.

Kenny wakes up to a blinding amount of natural light streaming through the windows. He changes into his freshly cleaned clothes, smelling way more expensive than he usually does, and folds Hugo’s. On his way out, he finds a note reading, “Thanks for dessert ;)” Despite his efforts, he can’t stop smiling, and he stores the note in the same place as the first one.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it’s more explicit than it usually is

They’ve fallen into a routine by now. It’s been months, and every week is almost exactly the same: Kenny comes over four days a week, every business day except Thursday. They cook dinner together on Mondays and Tuesdays and eat takeout on Wednesdays. On Fridays, they “watch” the football game (read: have sex in the living room while the television is on). Kenny is quiet and keeps to himself no matter what, but he’s all smiles when Hugo tells him of the stupid pranks he plays on his coworkers. Hugo is abrasive and obnoxious, rough edges to Kenny’s smooth lines. He’s always pushing for a hundred and ten percent, always in the know for pretty much everything in London. He’s sour and biting, and Kenny loves it. He knows when Hugo wants him to shove back, to argue and insult. In turn, Hugo knows when to temper his attitude, to give Kenny room to breathe. He knows when and how to hold him, to cradle him in his arms, just as Kenny knows where and how to dig his fingers into Hugo’s skin deep enough to leave nail marks and bruises. They’re wildly different people, but they’ve learned how to work around it. For instance, they’re both too competitive: Hugo’s too privileged and arrogant to back down, and Kenny’s won too many times to not rise to the occasion. Still, they enjoy a little bit of a push-pull. Hugo’s bossy, Kenny’s compliant. Kenny’s logical, Hugo’s reckless. It goes out the window, however, when they’re in bed, regardless of whether or not they’re actually _in_ a bed.

Hugo gravitates towards the passion, the impulsivity and wild abandonment of sex. He does what comes naturally to him, and he refuses to hold back. It’s nearly animalistic, in a way. He pushes and bites and manhandles. He relishes in the pain pleasure can bring; in all honesty, he’s a bit of a masochist. Kenny leans towards the gentleness and intimacy of love-making. He wants to be held, to move languidly and thoroughly, to hold on to every ounce of bliss he can get his hands on. It’s selfish sometimes, but Hugo likes selfish. He wants to hear every noise he can, to feel the shutter of muscle under his thighs as his partner cries out. And so does Kenny. So they play their unspoken game of who can wreck the other first, who can last the longest. It’s how they find themselves in situations like this, both standing at the edge of the cliff and not at all ready to jump.

They’re in the living room, Kenny bent over the side of the couch with Hugo fucking into him relentlessly. It’s Friday, and they hadn’t even managed to turn on the TV. To no one’s surprise, Hugo’s a talker. It’s a miracle he has any breath, Kenny thinks, or any coherent thoughts. Streams of _holyfuckKenny_ and _Christyoufeelamazing_ and various bouts of vulgar language fill the room as Kenny tries his best to ignore the fact that each of Hugo’s thrusts hit his prostate. He can barely feel his legs anymore- he’s not even sure he’s actually supporting himself against the furniture- but he’s held out this long and goddammit he’s not going to be the first one to cave. He grits his teeth as his vision starts to swim. His cock is heavy and dripping as it presses against his clothed chest. That’s another thing- they’re only half naked. He doesn’t want to imagine how he looks with lovebites marring his neck and filthy words in his ears. It’s too much, _it’s too much, he’s going to—_ he pushes his hips backward, harsh enough for Hugo to stumble, before he flips around and tugs the other man on top of him, letting them both fall onto the cushions. Hugo is dazed, confused by the lack of contact and heat around him. Kenny helps himself, lifting his legs over Hugo’s shoulders and crossing his ankles behind the other’s neck. He pulls them closer, not quite chest to chest, and lets Hugo adjust. He doesn’t slam into him, not with full force like before, not when his eyes are trained on Kenny’s flushed face. To no one’s surprise, Kenny is _not_ a talker, but he’ll be damned if he gets one-upped by someone so obvious as Hugo.

“Are you getting tired?” he teases. “I thought you wanted me to scream.” He’s never this forward; in fact, he’s getting flustered saying it at this moment. But it gets the job done as the words register in Hugo’s head, and the man is sneering at the one below him.

“Don’t pretend that you weren’t begging a minute ago.”

“For you? I’d never.”

Forget keeping a pace, their lips are crashing together, their hands searching to caress and pull and pump. There’s a moment when Kenny forgets where he is and the wet slap of skin against skin and Hugo’s constant cursing are the only things keeping him grounded. The unfamiliar sting of cock without lubricant entering him shocks him aware, and the intensity of Hugo’s gaze even more so. He’s not thrusting as fast, but it’s certainly deeper, and suddenly he’s burying his face into the crook of Kenny’s neck. “You’re so wonderful,” he insists between kisses. “You’re perfect, dear _God_ ,” he chokes out the last part, and Kenny knows he’s close. He rolls the skin of his collarbone between his teeth, “darling you’re so perfect, how you fit around me, _fu-uck,_ ” he stammers the last curse out as he tips over the edge. Kenny squeezes his eyes shut, determined to hold out, just until Hugo’s done, just until he’s sure he’s won, but Hugo’s hands are on him, long fingers sliding up and down his shaft, and Kenny can’t help but let go. He comes all over his shirt, probably ruining it for good, when Hugo dips his head down, foolishly trying to catch it in his mouth. He laps his tongue over him; it gets on his face and chin and hands and he doesn’t care in the slightest, instead laughing deliriously in bliss. He sucks on the head of Kenny’s cock, helping him ride out the rest of his orgasm as their legs stop shaking. They smile and laugh breathlessly, vowing to clean up the mess that made.

They don’t.

They take a shower instead, but it doesn’t quite go as planned. They take a second shower, but it only goes a little better than the first one. They order pizza and down an entire bottle of champagne before it even arrives. They sit on their kitchen floor (it’s becoming _theirs_ , after all, not just Hugo’s) and wax drunken poetry about computers and bookkeeping and poorly quote Sappho and Walter Whitman, acknowledging that they barely passed their literature classes in university. Hugo stands up on the island, striking a pose and pretending to be a valiant knight. Kenny helps him down from his marble steed as if he is a fair maiden (a far more appropriate comparison, considering the man’s blatant attitude). Bottle empty, they become increasingly sober, but instead of opening another, they take to the kitchen table.

 _On his knees_ , Hugo muses from atop the deep-colored wood, _is a very gorgeous position on Kenny_. He cards his fingers through Kenny’s hair, waiting patiently as his length twitches, half hard without being touched. Kenny smiles playfully from the floor, maintaining eye contact as he stretches his lips around the head of Hugo’s cock. He teases his tongue expertly across Hugo’s slit, slowly moving up and swallowing more and more of him. Hugo feels Kenny’s throat tighten around him, and as much as he wants to bare his neck and close his eyes, he can’t bring himself to leave Kenny’s gaze. The man looks right up at him, making innocent doe eyes as his mouth makes obscene noises against Hugo. He dips his head down and out, quickly breathing in and out, before taking him in all at once. Slowly, slowly he lets his tongue slide up the shaft, tracing patterns with the tip and pressing hard flat licks all the way to his entrance. _He’s way too good at this_ , Hugo notes as he watches Kenny’s cheeks hollow against him and he feels himself hit the back of Kenny’s throat. To his credit, Kenny only gags a little, opting to slow down and breath through his nose to get himself back under control. Hugo leans back on his elbows and watches him; he has half a mind to study whatever Kenny’s doing to him because _Jesus, how is anyone this good_. He talks, but he isn’t the world’s most vocal partner, so he digs his heels into Kenny’s back and arches himself off the table and looks at Kenny in a way that says _don’t you dare stop, i’ll die if you stop_. He knows Kenny’s a sucker for eye contact, so he keeps it up best as he can, and while there’s nothing more he’d like to do than throw his head back and come, the smile Kenny gives him as he bobs his head up and down is definitely worth the effort. But a moment later, he pulls back, letting go completely, and the only place they’re touching is where Kenny gently massages Hugo’s thighs.

“You’re really going to leave me like this? A writhing mess on my own kitchen table? God, don’t tell me you’re done.”

Kenny doesn’t look guilty in the slightest. He patiently catches his breath, letting the petty insults roll over him as he gazes adoringly at the man above him. It carries on for another minute or so as Hugo gets more and more frustrated on why they’ve not continued until Kenny presses up and kisses him, guiding him until his back falls flat on the table and his hands have nowhere to go but into Kenny’s hair. He’s being pinned at the hips; there’s a delicious way their cocks rub together, but Kenny won’t let him chase the friction. Complaints like _ugh, when did he become such a tease_ and _he’s barely even touching me_ run through the man’s head, and then immediately vanish when their lips are apart. Kenny mouths sloppily down Hugo’s throat, stopping periodically at the softer parts of flesh to sink his teeth in. From this angle, Hugo can’t see just how wide Kenny’s pupils have blown or how Kenny is literally salivating as he trails down Hugo’s body. He speaks before he thinks (he probably isn’t capable of coherent thought, anyway) and asks,

“Can I take your picture?” Kenny looks up, confused for a moment, before nodding and grinning impishly. Hugo fumbles for his phone, dropping it more than once when the other man latches onto a nipple, rolling it not-so-gently between his teeth. A spark of pain goes down between his legs, and Kenny decidedly trails his lips lower and lower. He stops at the soft line of hair beneath the navel, blinking up innocently at Hugo, and the tell-tale shutter of the camera goes off. His hair sticks out in all directions, there’s a sheen of sweat and precum on his face, and Hugo can’t stop taking pictures. Fingers leave his hips and skirt around the inner sides of his legs, over his ass, anywhere they can reach. At one point, Kenny holds up Hugo’s left leg, face dipping down behind the weight of Hugo’s cock, nuzzling at his balls. It takes a moment for Hugo to realize that he’s putting on a show, staring not into his eyes, but into the camera lens. Quickly, his legs numb, and he starts broken versions of Kenny’s name, signaling that he’s close. And Kenny, ever the secret monster, _pulls back and waits for him to calm down_. It goes on like this a few more times, to Hugo’s simultaneous pleasure and displeasure. Their unspoken game is getting ridiculous, and Hugo is sure to lose. In the end, he does, when Kenny’s muttering unknowable words into his skin and tenderly kissing his gunshot wound, and Hugo’s unsure if he’s ever felt this cared for.

He helps Kenny finish, too exhausted to take initiative, not enough to use his words. With a grunt, Kenny spills into his own fist, and he braces himself against the table while the two of them catch their breath. They’re reclining in bed, curled against one another and waiting to drift off when Hugo suddenly asks,

“Have we tried rimming?”

Kenny shakes his head and immediately pinks at the suggestive look given to him. With a huff, he shoves the other man gently and orders,

“Go to sleep!”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beginning text in bold from https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2020/sep/18/welsh-and-scottish-leaders-johnson-hasnt-talked-to-us-for-months

**At a press conference on Friday, Drakeford said there were lockdowns in north-west England, close to the Welsh border, and “speculation” of a “circuit-breaking” lockdown across England but he had had no recent direct communicat-**

The soft vibrations of his phone pull Kenny’s consciousness away from his computer screen. The small interface blinks up at him as he flips his phone over in his hand and thumbs the password: a text message reading  **Missing you** with an attached image from Hugo waits for him. He absentmindedly opens the photo before turning bright red and slapping his phone face down on his lap. Looking around to make sure no one is watching him, he reopens the photo. The camera angled down, there’s a noticeable bulge in Hugo’s pants in addition to his left hand being tucked into his front. The elastic band of his briefs is stretched around his wrist, pulled away from his skin, giving Kenny a shadowed view of the trail of hair below Hugo’s navel. He’s a professional, but his treacherous mind reminds him of how his own hands have been in that exact position.

**I’m at work!** he hurriedly texts.

**So am I ;)** is the response.

It’s 1 PM on a Thursday, the weather is perfect for a bike ride, Kenny’s supposed to get drinks after work, yet he cancels everything to rush home.

_ Home? _

Hugo’s strategically placed full body mirror is propped in front of his right closet door so that he can see himself as he walks out of his personal bathroom. Call him shallow all you want- sometimes he just likes to look at himself in the morning. By now, it’s late afternoon, and he takes great pleasure (pun intended) in seeing himself get fucked against the side of his bed. Kenny always kisses him sweetly, breathing love into the crook of his neck and the tendons beneath his jaw, rolling his hips in time with Hugo's muffled gasps. Though he enjoys their current position, watching the mirror gives Hugo an idea, and he cards his fingers through Kenny’s hair and asks him to stop. Kenny steps back and waits patiently to be told what else to do, looking not-quite there now that he’s lost the warmth of another body. Hugo leads him toward the mirror and pushes down on his shoulders, wordlessly telling him to kneel. From the floor, Kenny looks up and leans in to take Hugo into his mouth, but a finger under his chin guides his face away. His eyes are forced to look at the mirror, and, seeing the dips and curves of Hugo’s back and hips, he smiles but doesn’t understand. Only when Hugo takes his hands and settles them on the swells of his cheeks, letting his fingertips press into the crack does Kenny whisper a soft “Oh”. Following the encouraging nod Hugo gives him, Kenny spits into his own hands, slicking his fingers before slipping them inside the other man. He watches the mirror, mesmerized by how easily the first two went in and how it looks to see them disappear. With his free hand, he spreads Hugo apart to get a better view. Periodically he gathers the strength to tear his eyes away and turns to kiss Hugo’s inner thighs, biting and marking and sucking on the head of his cock.

Three fingers in and Hugo’s being fucked in earnest now. He’s caught between slamming his hips back into the fingers in his ass or bucking forward into the mouth wrapped around him. Just as Kenny watches the mirror, Hugo watches Kenny; it’s a tough call, but his favorite part of all this is seeing Kenny get lost in the obscenity. The noises, the sights, the taste: they're bound to overwhelm him but in the best way possible, and Kenny chases the notion without hesitation. So when he knows that he’s close, Hugo lets out a filthy moan and barks out a laugh when he feels Kenny choke for the first time that day.

“I can’t believe you still have work to do.”

An hour later, Hugo won’t stop complaining as he and Kenny recline on the sofa with their legs tangled together. Kenny lies with his head on Hugo’s chest, typing away at his computer that’s propped up on his knees.

“Sorry, Jamie sent me something last minute. It won’t take too long.”

Hugo huffs and drops his head back, letting his eyes drift over the etched ceiling. Still coming down from the high, he can’t bring himself to think of anything in particular and stares aimlessly at his furniture upside down. One of his hands, which rests on Kenny’s stomach, slinks down and under Kenny’s waistband.

“What are you doing?” He doesn’t sound alarmed or anything, just asking about the obvious, so Hugo doesn’t stop moving and says,

“Returning the favor.”

It’s a slow and lazy handjob, gentle and thorough, just the way Hugo knows Kenny likes. Regardless, Kenny’s in Work Mode, so Hugo can’t draw any sounds out of him; instead, he gauges the level of enjoyment based on whether the clacking of keys slows down. He grasps tightly and pulls hard from base to tip and watches Kenny retype the same sentence four times. A particularly quick swipe over his slit makes Kenny hold the space bar for too long. A dig in with the heel of Hugo’s palm has him hesitating how to spell “restaurant”. Hugo knows he’s about to come when he stops typing altogether, instead flexing and extending his fingers repeatedly. Cum coating his hand, Hugo helps Kenny get through his high by pumping quickly and consecutively, inadvertently causing a second orgasm. It takes some time for Kenny to stop shaking and start working again. Hugo leans forward and nips sharply at Kenny’s ear, making him blush, but otherwise leaving him alone. He falls asleep in the time it takes for Kenny to finish his work. He doesn't remove his hand from the front of Kenny’s underwear, and Kenny never asks.

Hugo wakes up as the sun sets and, after cleaning themselves up, urges Kenny to leave the apartment with him. They jump on a train and eventually make their way down Elm Avenue, unfamiliar to Kenny as he follows along wordlessly. Hugo’s smoking and talking, going on about something that happened to him a few years back. He lets their shoulders bump and doesn’t pause for Kenny to interject; he knows he likes more to just listen. As they continue, Kenny is acutely aware that his companion is talking about a whole lot of nothing. It’s as though he’s pretending to open up without revealing any of himself. Even now, Kenny knows that Hugo loves whiskey in the mornings and champagne in the evening, secretly doesn’t care at all for football, and hates wearing the color yellow. But what does Hugo know about Kenny anyway? That he bikes because it reminds him of his father? That most of his friends are those he makes from work? He doesn’t even know that Carolyn is his mother. It feels alienating, to be so close and intimate with someone who can’t bring themselves to know you nor you, they. But suddenly, Hugo sidesteps and tugs on Kenny’s elbow until they enter a shop and doesn’t let go of him, and Kenny wonders fleetingly if he’s wrong.

It’s a fiber arts gallery, showcasing the local university students’ work. There’s a thick wool coat that catches Hugo’s eyes, and he tells Kenny the broad details of wool-weaving, that of which he learned from a YouTube video.

“Would you wear it?” Hugo asks, distractedly rubbing the cloth against his fingers.

“Um, yeah, if it were cold enough, I suppose,” he stutters and delivers a clumsy answer. He receives only a dismissive hum as the coat is held up against his front, the sleeves being pulled and measured against his arms. It earns his approval, and Hugo clutches it in his arm as the two of them continue to walk around the gallery. When they get to the register, Hugo slides over his card, talking all the same to Kenny, who realizes that he’s being distracted but is ushered too quickly out of the shop to protest much.

Hugo drags Kenny all over the street, dropping into a quaint bakery and a book store before promising that the next is the last. The last one ends up being a locksmith, a hole in the wall so small that Kenny didn’t notice it at first. Hugo doesn’t give Kenny the opportunity to enter the shop with him, he is in and out so quickly.

“Here,” Hugo puts his hand in Kenny’s as they stand on the moving train on their way home. Kenny opens his fist and, seeing a key, doesn’t understand.

“You’re over all the time, so I figured…” Hugo trails off lamely, looking out the window as he attempts to explain. Kenny ducks his head and smiles; he’s just as embarrassed as he figures Hugo is.

It’s three AM and Kenny wakes up just in time to leave. But Hugo’s thrashing in his sleep, and Kenny nearly freaks out. He tries to hold Hugo still, pressing down on his shoulders and calling his name so as to wake him up. Hugo startles and looks up at Kenny, wide eyed and terrified, clutching at his side.

“It’s just me, you’re alright, you’re with me,” Kenny repeats over and over. He strokes his hair and, slowly, Hugo calms down. He’s crying a little when he tells Kenny, “Just… stay with me.” So he does. He stays ’til morning, cradling Hugo in his arms the entire time. At 8:15, he’s planting gentle kisses on Hugo’s face when he hears, “You should get to work.”

“I don’t have to. I can stay,” he answers earnestly, stroking the other’s cheek. But Hugo won’t meet his eyes and rolls out of bed instead.

“I have to get going anyway.”

The dress separately, their backs facing each other in the cool sunlight. Before he leaves, Kenny kisses Hugo’s cheek. He spends the rest of the day worrying about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rip it’s been so long


End file.
